


You Deserve Me

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackrom, M/M, Petplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hate him. You hate him so, so much, but you're a good enough pet that you can hide it for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Deserve Me

He crooks his finger, and you stumble forward, tripping over your arms and the leash he left dangling from your collar. You can’t stand him. You want to claw his face off and spread his disgusting violet over the walls. You want to do everything he says, because then you might get a reward.

Once you’re at his feet, he lifts your chin with the toe of his boot and grins, snatching up your lead. With a sharp yank, he nearly bowls you over, and you only just bite back the snarl trying to crawl up your throat.

His grin gets wider, splitting his finned face in half. “Sit.”

You do as you’re told, sitting on your heels and looking up at him like a good pet should: with something like adoration. The fucking narcissist. Still, you can see his bulge pressing against the front of his pants already, and that gives you no small rush of pride.

Your own bulge is writhing against your abdomen, your nook making an indigo dribble down your thigh. He presses the toe of his boot to the base of your bulge and you whine, pain shooting up your spine and making you want to break his neck. He only stops when you’ve got tears dripping down your face.

"You’ve made a mess of my boot." His voice, though he’s doing his best to seem uninterested, betrays how excited theatrics like this really do get him. "Lick it clean, dog."

You let your tongue loll out of your mouth for a second, then bend forward and lap at the small amount of indigo on the black leather. You drag your tongue over it in smooth, slow motions, looking up at him with wide, approval-seeking eyes.

His eyes fall half-lidded and he pulls his bulge from his pants, stroking it leisurely while he watches you. You haven’t been told to stop, so you keep going, eventually switching to his other boot when he moves it forward. Your bulge is getting sore from lack of stimulation, and the condescending way he’s staring at you makes it just that much worse.

Better, though.

You watch him closely, then wrap your hand around your bulge, groaning against his boot as you start jacking yourself off, rolling your hips just barely. You hope he won’t notice.

Of course he does. He always does. Your leash is jerked up harshly, so much so that even with sitting up as much as you can and not breaking the act of being a barkbeast, you can’t really breathe right. He looks mad. Your bulge just tightens on your hand at that.

"Did I fuckin say you were allowed to touch yourself?" He snarls, letting the strain on the leash up. He never actually does anything that hurts; he needs you too much to chance you leaving.

You shake your head no, whimpering softly. You’re going to be punished. You know that, that’s how it works, but you don’t know  _how_ you’ll be punished and something about that thought makes it sweeter, letting this asshole, the only person alive who hates you more than your ex moirail, do what he will with you.

It makes you shiver, and you barely keep yourself from grinning.

Eridan looks like he’s thinking, idly shoving your hand away from yourself with his now-spotless boot. “Follow.”

He starts walking, and you crawl along behind him, your knees and palms turning indigo against the wood. He pulls you into his respiteblock and stops at his coupling platform, then turns to you.

"Although I usually don’t let animals on my furniture, you need to be punished. Up." He tugs a bit on the lead and you bend yourself over the edge of the platform, your ass in the air.

He-surprisingly-pauses to pull his rings off his fingers before he brings his hand down on your skin, still hard enough to sting vibrantly. He does it again, and keeps doing it, until you lose count and just have to hold the sheet and gasp, sobbing little moans as your bulge writhes in the air. He pauses to push your thighs apart and stroke the folds of your nook for a moment, and you bite through your lip holding back your orgasm.

"How many was that? Speak."

"Um." You gasp, and he shoves two fingers inside you. "I don’t know."

His fingers crook inside you and you shriek, coming so hard it actually  _hurts,_ but you moan, bucking your hips and riding it out as long as you can. He’s grinning behind you.

"That was twenty. You get five for coming without permission."

His fingers pull out of your nook and you whimper, feeling your already mostly cool material grow colder on your thighs. Ten seconds of anticipation, and his hand is there, stinging across your ass and making you yelp.

Then again, harder.

Once, twice softer, more of a tap to remind you that your skin is smarting.

He stops. “How many, Gamzee?” The way he says your name makes you moan.

You’re speaking before you even figure out the words you need. “One. One more, please, master.”

He purrs, nods, and gives you the last blow. “Good boy. Now, spread your legs.”

You do. Your bulge is twitching back to life already, your nook pulsing with need, and when he shoves his bulge in you can’t hold back the scream that bubbles in your throat. He yanks your hair and fucks you, hard and fast and not in the least concerned with your comfort, and you can feel another orgasm pooling in your gut already.

"Don’t come till I say so, slut." He snaps, pushing your head back to the sheets. Your facepaint is already smeared, and it’s coming off with how you’re rubbing agaimst the sheet. "Or I’ll use my crop next."

You almost want him to, but you also know that if you can’t walk out of here, he’ll just dump you on your doorstep without caring if you’re seen. You can tell he’s getting close by the little whining inhalations he’s making, his claws biting into your hips, and you hold back your own orgasm by force of will, keeping your hands by your face the way you’ve been told to before.

He slams forward a few more times, leans into your ear, and hisses. “Come for me, worthless lowblood trash.”

You come, your nook clenching on him and pulling him over with you. He pulls out and spills on your thighs and the floor, gasping for breath and still gripping your hips.

A few moments pass without any sound but the rushing of your blood in your ears and both of you breathing hard. Then, he speaks again. Doesn’t he ever shut up?

"Good dog."

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, consider supporting me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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